My Drinking Demons
by ChibiXII
Summary: I shouldn't drink, last time I summoned Russia from my floorboards. This time well..lets say I've out done myself. AlfredXArthur


**Based off the English dub of America and England drinking together. Why you ask?, for funzzies of course. **

**Warnings: There is no pasta in this drabble, don't take things too seriously, especially if your American, lets be friends *waves English flag***

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine, if it was the world would be a different place^^**

**Lyrics from Waking up in vegas by Katy Perry.**

* * *

_**You gotta help me out, it's all a blur last night.**_

_**Don't be a baby, remember what you told me?**_

_**Shut up and put your money where your mouth is.**_

* * *

_It all started with one simple sentence, "come have a drink with me." It went downhill fast after that._

...

"Am I _catholic_ or _protestant_?, God I don't know!."

The bar tender raised an eyebrow as he leaned towards the taller blond. "Excuse me is he ok?." He, meaning the smaller rather frustrated blond muttering incoherently against the polished counter. Unaware of all other present forms of life.

Grinning widely the American waved it off. "He _always _gets like this when he starts drinking."

Shoving upwards clumsily England stood, scowling in his very best manner.

"YOU DON'T KNOW ME, _I'M _THE UNITED BLOODY KINGDOM AND I CAN HELD MY LOCKER BETTER THAN YOU ANYDAY!."

"Dude calm down."

"SHUT UP, I felt bad about the way old France face was treating you so I SAVED YOUR ASS. I thought maybe we could be friends and bond over our mutual hatred for France." Stumbling wildly forward Arthur groaned, as eyes bluer than the sky stared at him all self awareness was lost. Shoving aside his imaginary friends England growled, pointing condemningly. Fuck the consequences, American style.

"YOU DIDN'T WANT TO BE FRIENDS WITH ME, YOU JUST WANTED TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO AND YOU DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO ANYWAY, I THINK THATS TOTAL BOLLOCKS!."

"Dude..."

"I mean your just the worst type ever!."

"Duuuuude."

"J-Just show-in up and do-in what-ever you want even though no one bloody asked or wanted you too!."

"DUDE!."

"WHAT?," focusing Britain stared at a face far to close to his own. "You wanna fight?, come on den I can totally kick your over-sized ass, even without tons of monweeeeeee and gunzz a-and all that other crap you feel necessarily to be a total wanker!."

"I don't wanna fight." Alfred smiled warmly, there was something incredibly sweet about Arthur, even when he was screaming cursing and summoning evil. Yes the Brit was bitter sweet.

His smile never faltering America grasped his allies shoulders to steady and reassure. Awkwardly England swatted at the offending hands frantically, his cheeks heating as the American's grip never faltered. "Unhand me!."

Alfred just stared as Arthur unsuccessfully tried to free himself, his unsteady actions creating an air of cuteness that Britain would and could never be aware of.

"We'll be going now," placing a ridiculous amount of dollar bills on the counter America flashed a charming smile, the awe in the waiters eyes said it all. Feeling his super hero duties were fulfilled, Alfred then proceed to his next, somewhat more difficult task.

Pulling the more than irate Britain from the bar he stretched in the cool night air. Feeling violent tugs he noted that Arthur had decided if he couldn't free his arm he could gnaw it off.

Grabbing the teeth free arm Alfred laughed, "dude don't do that." Receiving only a hiss the ever optimistic American shrugged, moments like these were exactly why other countries refused to be on the same continent as a drunk Britain.

Tripping against uneven ground Arthur found himself buried in a strong chest, with even stronger arms wrapped tightly around him. Inhaling tiredly he smiled, the haze in his mind fogging his judgment.

That moment was lost as hands not his own began to shift, America's gloved hands seeming much more real suddenly.

"What the bloody hell do you think your _doing_?." Hissing venomously Arthur shoved away, still very much relying on American support to stand.

"Well I can't just stand here for ever holding you up, I was just helping."

"Why?, I'm perfectly c-capable to stand on my own two feet!."

The argument would have been more believable had Arthur not immediately pointed to his ears instead.

"Because, it's what heroes do, help damsels in distress!." Grinning wildly Alfred ruffled Britain's hair, ever since he'd gained height he loved to do that, mostly cause it drove Arthur absolutely crazy.

"The fuck?, d-do I look like some princess to you bastard!."

Raising his eyebrows America just had to ask, "would you freak if I said yes?."

Met with a look that could kill a normal man at ten paces Alfred decided against it. England might be considerably smaller but was a total demon when provoked. And he would know, especially after the last time he tried to officially label Britain his BF. It was only after the carnage did he find out, that it could be interpreted as boyfriend.

Not being intoxicated was no fun in general, to an American with a Brit, it was tragic. But never one to miss a show off opportunity Alfred dragged Arthur towards his latest over priced purchase. A sports car that was so American it hurt. Black leather seats, tons of gadgets and screens, topped off with a hideously bright red paint job, a white stripe along the middle. Everything about it screamed flash and cash.

"Isn't it awesome, I have five more just like it!."

Receiving a dark disapproving glare America frowned, "Your hard to please. I bet you'll change your mind after a ride, get in."

Shoving flush against America Britain refused, "Bugger off, I'll get back my own way, not your stupid bloody way!." Flailing around like a fish on a hook England growled, deciding that moment if the American got within biting distance he'd go for it.

Looking unsurly around for Arthur's seemingly ever present imaginary friends Alfred frowned. "You gonna ride your imaginary unicorn home then?."

"YESSSSSSSSSS."

"...Don't you think my car is cooler?."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO."

...

Groaning loudly in the morning light England shuffled under his covers, just cause he couldn't see the light didn't mean he couldn't feel it.

Everything hurt, "Uggghhhhhhhhhh I want to dieeeeee."

_'It's America's fault!.' _

Pulling the cover off green eyes dilated fast, swiftly blocking the rays of light he dived downwards into the bed. Shoving his fingers through his soft sunny bangs. It didn't stop the thumping deep inside his head, nor the bouts of nausea.

That's when he noticed something, something that was a miss. A rather large body like lump curled up barley an inch away, dusty blond hair pocking out over the top cover. Paling to the likes that would shame a vampire Britain gulped, surly he was still dreaming, dreaming the impossible.

He had accepted it long ago, his heart belonged to an idiot. But being British Arthur Kirkland would rather die than admit it aloud. In reality such ridiculous whims were foolish.

The American would never have to know, Arthur swore to keep his love bottled up inside, like any sensible self respecting Brit would.

So why was the image before him remaining?, dreams normally end in the harsh light of day.

As the lump shifted the covers were pulled down, a bright ecstatic grin greeting him. "Good morning dude, last night was awesome!."

"Oh _my_ God..."

"You said that alot last night."

"Fuck you!." Scooting up into a sitting position England flushed crimson, America copied the actions, minus the bright red face of horror.

"I believe it was the other way around." To prove his point Alfred cast his long limbs outwards, making them both collapse backwards into the bed uneligantly.

The memories flooded back, brief intimate moments causing the Brit to blush darker.

"Besides, were meant for each other, were both wearing our flag on our boxers!."

Yanking the covers off his reluctant lover America laughed, earning a squeak of horror. Quickly Arthur began desperately tugging the covers up madly.

_'This cannot possibly get any worse.'_

Sitting up America stole a quick kiss, pulling away before grinning, "up for round two?."

"Oh bloody hell!."

Catching England's surprisingly soft hand America squeezed, easily intertwining their fingers. "How about next time you tell me you love me, say it when your sober."

Brushing a few stray strands of sunny hair back Alfred J. Jones challenged, "If you ever work up the courage that is."

...

_I think my face might explode, that is if my heart doesn't do it first. _

_As I look into to eyes far bluer than my skies, I can't help but smile like a fool. _

_Maybe now I can cast aside the fear, this is only just a dream. _

_This is real. _


End file.
